


Fingers Bent with Pain Only Play the Sweetest Notes

by PeppermintOrange



Series: A Load So Heavy [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Child Neglect, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Pianist Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Violinist Damian Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintOrange/pseuds/PeppermintOrange
Summary: Damian had been a skilled violinist for several years. So, why was it impossible just to pick up his instrument now, let alone play?
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: A Load So Heavy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844761
Comments: 3
Kudos: 167





	Fingers Bent with Pain Only Play the Sweetest Notes

**Author's Note:**

> “Be careful to be gentle, lest in removing the rust, you break the whole instrument.”  
> St. Benedict of Nursia

Damian held his bow in his hand and was still as black notes swam in his vision and his fingers ached with nostalgic pain.

The first movement of Beethoven's  _ Violin Sonata No. 9 _ stared straight back at him. The notes he almost knew by heart seemed overwhelmingly distant and impossible to play. Starting the piece seemed to be a feat too astronomical for him to accomplish.

Frustrated and angered by his indecisiveness and static hands at the notes in front of him, Damian gripped the bow tight enough his knuckles went white. He could hear every note sing in his ears yet he couldn’t manage to bring himself to let the hairs of the bow kiss the strings.

The nagging voice of his mother erupted in his mind, a repeated loop of her disappointment. Why, if he had been playing the piece for months had he made mistakes? There was no excuse for missed rhythms or out of tune notes or-

_ Failure. _

Damian, face flushed hot and his chest tightening, loosened his grip on the bow. He glowered at the pages perching on his stand. The black notes morphed into the color red as his anger seized his vision.

Damian, not very kind to the instrument, threw its pieces on the bed behind him. He knelt and opened his case back up before shoving the violin back into its dark cavern. He snatched the music from the stand and stomped to his desk. He haphazardly threw the sheet music in his desk drawer, preparing it to be buried under other clutter that would soon find itself in his drawer.

The case was moved to the far corner of his room and was almost invisible unless someone was looking for it. His mind raced, coming up with multiple reasons why playing would be a waste of his time and telling himself it was a stupid idea to even try when its only purpose was to teach him discipline and hone his fine motor skills. He had passed that level of training. There were a plethora of other tasks that could and had replaced his violin lessons. It was unnecessary for him to play anymore.

Besides, without a piano to accompany him, it wouldn’t sound right anyway.

\----

The violin sat in the corner of his room for weeks, gathering dust. It nagged at him almost as much as his mother with its odd shape in his otherwise straight-edged bedroom.

Damian ignored it.

Instead, his days were filled with silence. After Dick had insisted they move to the penthouse, the vast emptiness had at least disappeared but not the silence. Damian wasn’t used to the silence Dick brought. He had been taught that silence was a weapon itself, to be used carefully and often meant tension and punishment in the League. Dick’s silence was different, a balm of sorts to soothe tension, not create it.

Damian lived with the silence until a new instrument took its place.

In the penthouse, a piano sat in their living area, up close to the windows like a trophy. It was only a baby grand and Damian had thought it was no more than a decoration. He had doubts it was even tuned. That was, until one quiet day he heard music resounding softly from down the hall as he sat on his bed, drawing in his sketchbook. 

He paused in his drawing, unsure if he was hearing correctly. He listened for a few seconds and sure enough, the flitting notes of the piano were drifting through the penthouse. Damian set his sketchbook down and pushed himself off his bed, walking out of his room and down the hall towards the expansive living space of the penthouse. He was curious about who was playing. 

Damian peeked around the corner to find Dick sitting quietly at the piano, tongue sticking out with intense concentration. He was playing a simple tune. It was a little choppy and he missed obvious notes but it was still enjoyable enough to listen to.

“Richard?” Damian asked as he stepped into the room.

Dick’s eyes perked up, the music ceasing as his attention was drawn away. “Oh. Damian.”

Damian eyed Dick skeptically. He walked more fully into the room, coming up to where Dick was sitting. He rounded behind Dick, looking over his shoulder at simple sheet music. He raised an eyebrow. "You play the piano?"

Dick rubbed the back of his head with a cheeky smile. He gave a little laugh. "Well… a little. Your dad made me take lessons when I came to live with him."

“He did?” Damian asked. His impression of his father hadn’t led to the conclusion he was a very musical man. Damian was a little surprised.

“Not for long.” Dick started tinkering with the keys again. He tapped out a simple melody. "I never had the patience for it and eventually Bruce gave up trying to get me to practice. He wasn't going to force me."

Something about what Dick said made his skin heat with irritation. Damian’s skin bristled with annoyance and he clenched his fists. Phantom pain throbbed in his fingers. He held his tongue and instead focused on the sweet melody Dick was making up, trying to ignore the feeling.

"I still like to play a little bit once in a while," Dick said. "I don't practice very much anymore."

“ _ Tt-” _ Damian scoffed. “That’s _ obvious. _ ”

“Well, maybe it’s because I spend all my time chasing a little robin around.” Dick teased.

Damian rolled his eyes. Dick laughed.

"Come on," Dick said, patting the bench beside him and scooting over. "I'll teach you if you want."

Damian frowned but slid next to Dick, letting his fingers lie gently on the white keys. Dick guided his fingers and instructed him on the placement of his hands. Damian didn’t tell him he already knew how his hands should be placed. He didn’t say that he could probably outplay anything Dick could teach him because Mother had him learn the piano for many years along with the violin before she narrowed his musical focus for him. She said it was better to be an expert at one thing than mediocre at many. Of course, Damian had been far from mediocre with either of them.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing scales and little harmonies together. Dick praised him for catching on so well.

It was a good afternoon.

\-----

Even after that, the silence was still the main soundtrack that played through their small household. Occasionally, Dick would wander to the piano and would play a few notes. Sometimes the radio would be turned on when it became too quiet for them all.

The violin never sang. Damian tried but he couldn't get passed the white-knuckled grip on his bow.

It was on one of their nights off that Damian finally heard it. The well-placed notes of the piano swelled and fell with a practiced hand as they drifted through the solid wood of his door. He knew it wasn’t Dick unless he had become extremely skilled overnight.

Curiosity won out for Damian and he pushed himself out of bed and padded out into the dark hallway, ears straining to analyze every note. Whoever was playing was nearly perfect.  _ It couldn’t be Pennyworth, could it? _

Damian had never seen the butler touch the piano besides dusting it but Damian wouldn’t doubt he could play. The man seemed to be skilled in every aspect of life.

Damian stopped short of the opening out into the main room, taking in the heavenly notes. He finally peeked around the corner, careful to keep himself hidden. As he caught sight of the figure sitting at the piano, his enjoyment ceased immediately. At the piano sat not Dick or Pennyworth but someone he hadn’t seen in ages and loathed to ever see again.

_ Drake could play the piano? _

Damian was about to step in the room, wondering why his incompetent predecessor, after so many months with minimal contact, was sitting in their living room, playing on  _ their _ piano. However, before he could walk into the room to confront him, a hand on his shoulder pulled him back. Damian choked on a yelp before a voice hissed in his ear.

“Leave him alone.” 

Damian turned to find Dick towering behind him, eyes serious, and focused completely on Damian. Damian was silent, but his eyes drifted back to the living room asking the question without saying it.  _ Why was Drake here? _

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking much older than he was. His eyes drifted towards the room as well. He frowned and he shifted as he caught sight of Tim like he wanted to go out there too. “Tim's staying the night. He wanted to visit Alfred.”

There was a bitterness in Dick’s voice, not one of anger or hate, but loss. Damian felt his stomach drop and something acidic burned in his chest before it turned to flame and anger. “Did he have to come here?”

“Just-” Dick sighed. He seemed overly tired. “Just leave him alone Damian. Let him play. He doesn’t do it often and it’s nice to listen to. You can admit that at least, right?”

Damian crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air with disgust. “ _ Tt-.” _

Dick shook his head, clearly giving up. “Let’s just go to bed then.”

Damian agreed and they both went back to their respective rooms. Damian closed the door behind him, hoping to block out the music as much as possible. 

It didn’t work. He fell asleep listening to Debussy’s  _ Clair De Lune  _ drift through the halls.

\-----

That night stuck in his mind even after all that happened, even after Father returned and even after Damian himself was brought back to life. The music never seemed to leave his ears, but he never actually heard it again. Not until one night almost two years after he arrived in Gotham.

The manor, much like the penthouse, was quiet. Even with Father and his animals, Damian found it to be a similar atmosphere. It almost seemed quieter. Father was naturally quiet and didn’t fill the hole Dick left that he had filled with sound. Even after Tim moved back into the manor after some coaxing from Dick and Father, the sound barely brushed the levels it did at the penthouse. Tim turned out to be almost as much an introvert as Father.

Damian didn’t mind it, of course. He was at peace with silence now, but sometimes it did become too much. He didn’t bother trying to pull his violin out anymore. He had found that it was better to keep it in its case. He kept it pristine and tuned but no more playing happened than that. His sheet music was still buried somewhere in a desk drawer. The silence was still the ruling song in the household.

Except, one night, after everyone had gone to bed, Damian woke to  _ Clair de Lune _ singing through the halls again.

Damian laid in his bed for a few seconds, keeping his breath quiet and listening. Slowly he pushed himself up and out of bed and walked into the hallway. Damian followed the music down the hall and stairs, the sound leading him to outside one of the many rooms on the main level. The double doors to the room were open and Damian peered inside.

The low light from a lamp lit the expansive room. Damian vaguely remembered it from when he had first moved in and had taken every nook and cranny of the house to memory. One glance around the room was the indication that its purpose was for music practice. A shelf across the room held several music theory and instrument lesson books. On the back wall, several glass cases held a collection of what Damian assumed were antique instruments. Most of the floor was a thick dark carpet and the walls had several soundproofing panels. More than likely, if the doors had been closed, Damian wouldn’t have heard a sound.

In the center of it all was a grand piano, sleek and black. At its bench sat Tim swaying slightly with his playing. Damian brought himself in full view in the doorway. Tim’s eyes barely lifted to see him before he continued playing. Damian stood quietly in the doorway for a few seconds before he stepped into the room. He approached Tim slowly, listening carefully to the music.

"I see Father had you learn piano as well," Damian said finally. He stopped next to the piano, only a few feet from where Tim sat.

Tim's eyes barely flitted up to meet his briefly before drifting back down. The music continued without hitch. Damian crossed his arms, waiting for Tim to acknowledge him. Tim shook his head.

"No actually," Tim said. "I started way before I met Bruce." 

Damian frowned. "Then-"

"My parents forced me. " Tim said coldly. His hands stopped abruptly on the keys, leaving the melody unfinished. His fingers hovered above them, stiff and tense like it hurt to play. Damian watched them tremble slightly before Tim’s fingers curled into fists and rested on the edge of the keys. “They said any respectable person should be able to play the piano.”

Tim blinked down at the luminous keys in front of him. He didn’t look at Damian, and his facial expression was drawn and void of emotion. It seemed like he didn’t even realize Damian was there anymore. "Of course, they never bothered to come to any of my recitals."

Damian was quiet as he listened to Tim. Damian knew the bare minimum about Tim's life before he met Batman, least of all his parents. He knew Tim had come from a rich family. He had forced himself on Batman to become Robin and somewhere along the line, his parents had passed away. Damian hadn't been able to find any more information in Tim's file when he had looked and Dick refused to talk about it although he knew Tim's history.

Tim suddenly made a face like he swallowed a lemon as if he regretted saying anything at all. Like he had said too much. He dropped his hands to his sides and stood, pushing the bench back. "I'm going back to bed. Sorry if I woke you."

Tim brushed passed Damian, heading for the hallway. Damian turned and watched him with annoyance. He hadn't exactly wanted to make Tim leave, only ask a few questions at most. Damian’s chest twisted and before he knew it words bubbled out of his mouth rapidly, trying to race the speed Tim was walking to the door. 

"You play well." He blurted.

Tim stopped and slowly turned back around. He gave Damian a disturbed look. "What?"

Damian felt his ears burn and backtracked. "Competently, to be more accurate. Which isn't hard. Expected really, if you claim to be any sort of pianist."

Tim stared at him quietly as if expecting him to grow a tail and Damian clapped his hands behind his back, composing himself. "You have passable accuracy, although your phrasing needs work."

Tim leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. "That's your attempt at a compliment?"

"It wasn't a compliment." Damian fired back immediately. "Only an observation."

"And who taught you music?" Tim asked. Sarcasm was laced in his voice as if he didn't believe Damian had any experience playing an instrument. Damian huffed with irritation.  _ Drake, always the one to assume and make a fool of himself. _

"Mother wanted me to learn the arts to supplement my training," Damian said, straightening his stance with pride. "I have played the violin since I was three years of age."

Tim eyed Damian suspiciously. “Three years old, huh?”

Damian nodded stiffly. “Mother insisted.”

Tim was quiet at his response. Damian couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He continued. “I’m very good, in case you were wondering. So yes, I have enough musical knowledge to critique your skills.”

“I really don’t care if you do. It’s not important.” Tim pushed off from the doorway. “I hate playing anyway. I don't  _ care _ if I'm improving or not."

Damian was quiet for a few seconds, taken aback. He gritted his teeth. The way Tim casually brushed off his skills and hard work made him see red. How could he hate his skills, what he had probably taken years to develop? Damian scoffed. "That's completely idiotic. You're wasting your potential, despite how limited it is."

Tim bristled. "Potential doesn't have  _ anything  _ to do with it."

"It's an excuse," Damian said. He huffed. "Laziness."

Damian watched with satisfaction as Tim's hands curled into fists and his jaw set tightly. "You don't understand anything."

Damian snarled. " _ I  _ don't waste my ability. You do. What is there to understand?"

"That's-" Tim floundered. He threw his hands up. “There's more to it than that! I mean, do you even  _ like  _ playing the violin?”

Damian blinked. He had a talent for it and he was expected to use that talent, nothing more, nothing less. “I am a skilled violinist.”

Tim shook his head. “It’s a yes or no answer, Damian.”

Damian scowled at Tim. Tim sighed. He walked back into the room and took a seat at the piano bench again. He sat backward, the keys of the piano facing his back. Tim folded his hands and leaned forward. His gaze drifted towards the windows.

"I had this instructor for a while after my old instructor retired," Tim said. His fingers brushed gently over his knuckles and his eyes slowly drifted down to his hands. "I remember the first time she came to teach me. She had this wooden ruler that she held over her lap. I asked what it was for and she said it was for students who didn't want to work hard enough."

Damian felt something sitting heavy in his stomach. His fingers throbbed.

"I didn't find out what she really meant until the next lesson I had with her," Tim said. His hands squeezed tightly together, the skin of his knuckles going pale white. His eyes snapped up to meet Damian’s. "I missed five notes. She hit so hard, my knuckles were bleeding afterward."

Damian swallowed. Tim didn't break his gaze.

Damian remembered metal strings slicing the delicate flesh of his fingers as he played the same phrase over and over. He remembered his teacher yelling for him to repeat even after finally getting his notes correct. He remembered having to play long after his fingers had been sliced to ribbons, blood running down his fingers, and painting his instrument.

Tim was still and his voice was barely a whisper. "I've never had a reason to like it, even if I was good. You get it now?"

Damian was silent. Tim watched him with fierce eyes. After a few beats without Damian responding Tim shook his head.

"Nevermind," Tim said sourly. "I shouldn't even try explaining it to you."

Tim pushed himself up from his seat and Damian watched silently as Tim moved to leave. “I’m going back to bed. For real this time.”

Something bubbled inside of Damian, making him feel sick as he watched Tim drift silently out the door. Damian fingers pulsed with pain with every heartbeat.

Not really knowing what made him move, Damian followed Tim back into the hall. Tim was already climbing the staircase when Damian called out to him from over the railing. 

“Drake.” 

Tim stopped his ascent on the stairs, turning to peer over the railing at Damian. Damian walked around to the bottom of the stairs, Tim’s eyes following him.

“Yeah?” Tim said. “What?”

Damian swallowed, pushing down the floating feeling in his stomach. "I-"

Damian choked on his words. Tim watched him carefully. Damian struggled to keep his eyes on Tim. He had always been wary of the deep analytical gaze Tim had. People with that look were dangerous, manipulative. Damian clenched his fists, his knuckles going white.

"My teachers..." Damian started hesitantly. He took a breath and straightened, trying to keep his composure. "My teachers had similar methods."

Tim waited, looking at Damian like he was expecting more. Damian didn't want to talk anymore. He broke his gaze with Tim, suddenly becoming interested in the wallpaper on the wall next to him.

Tim didn’t move. They both stood quietly for a few seconds as blood pounded in Damian’s ear. Damian wished Tim would say something, wished he wasn’t so silent. Tim shifted on the steps, his breath almost coming out as a sigh.

"Damian," Tim's voice was soft, breaking the barrier of silence. Walls of absent sound crumbled under his whisper. "I'm sorry."

Damian could only nod, words failing him. 

An uncomfortable feeling settled over them. It was heavy and awkward, a timid feeling without direction. Damian felt unsettled by it. His interactions with Tim had been violent, cruel, and tense but they had never been awkward. They knew where they stood with each other.

Damian lifted his eyes again to meet Tim’s, wanting to gauge his reaction. Damian tensed, letting his face become void of emotion, not wanting to let Tim see anything that wasn’t there, that shouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t be able to escape the cold, analytical stare in Tim’s icy blue eyes.

Except, when he finally met Tim’s gaze, Tim’s eyes weren't cold. They were honest and wide, not tight with mockery or irritation like they usually were. Maybe they never had been at all.

Tim cleared his throat. “You know, if you ever need an accompaniment, you can ask. I'm not saying I'll do it, but I'll think about it."

Damian frowned, confused at the sudden offer. "I thought you hated playing."

"Maybe hate was a strong word to use." Tim amended. "More like strongly dislike. Most of the time."

Damian eyed Tim curiously. Tim rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Just... let me know.”

Damian nodded. “Thank you.”

Despite the new awkwardness that had surfaced between them, something good was exchanged between them for the first time.

Understanding.

\-----

The next day, Damian picked up his bow and his violin. He played straight through the sonata that haunted his desk drawer for almost two years.

His fingers never hurt once.

**Author's Note:**

> The second part of the series is finished! This took me way longer than expected. I love Damian but out of the four robin boys I struggle with his voice the most. Tim is also hard for me to characterize I found while I wrote this. Putting those two together in a way that seemed realistic was actually pretty hard for me. Also, I hardcore headcanon that Tim plays the piano. No way he lived in the upper-class without having some sort of music lessons, it's like a requirement.
> 
> Also, I'm still slowly working on the big piece for this series. It won't be up here for a while but I'm excited about it. Right now it's mainly Damian-centric, but things have been developing for the other characters and I'm thinking of putting more focus on them as well.


End file.
